by Candace Camp
She smoothed a hand across the exquisitely soft leather. Was she only fooling herself, she wondered, to think that perhaps Nicholas cared for her more than he realized?
Juliana looked back at him. He was watching her, the strong lines of his face somehow softer, his eyes warm. Her eyes went to his lips, and she remembered how they had felt on hers the other day, firm yet pliant, warming her. The heat she had experienced then flooded back into her now, thinking of it. She glanced away, hoping he would have no idea what she was thinking.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you. You are very generous to me.”
“I enjoy it,” he told her simply. “There is a limit to how much one can buy for oneself.”
Juliana looked back at him, her gray eyes twinkling as she said, “There are a number of people who do not realize that, you know.”
“So I have noticed.”
The carriage rolled slowly through the streets of London, but gradually the traffic grew less and the buildings fewer, and they were at last beyond the city. It was not a terribly long trip to Lychwood Hall, which lay in the green loveliness of Kent. To others, Juliana supposed, it would seem peculiar that Nicholas had not already visited his ancestral home. She, however, could well understand his reluctance. That understanding, she thought, was perhaps the main reason why he wished to marry her. In all the world, she was the only one who would know why it was so difficult for him to set foot again inside that cold mansion. She had seen the determined effort to break the will of the child Nicholas had been—the frequent punishments when he was locked in his room and denied his supper, the canings administered in Trenton Barre’s study, and, perhaps worst of all, the simple cold lack of love for an orphaned boy.
As a child, she had been confused by the way the Barres had treated Nicholas. She understood now that it had been jealousy that drove Trenton Barre, envy that this child would one day come into the estate and title he must have coveted. But she could not find it in herself to forgive him. Instead of the love he should have given his brother’s son, he had offered him only loneliness and dislike. Nicholas had had only her, and the secret friendship of some of the servants and tenants on the estate. It made her a little sad to think that she was probably the only person on whom Nicholas was able to shower some of his fortune.
She looked over at him. He was gazing out at the passing countryside, his face unreadable. She wondered what he was thinking as he returned to his former home.
“It will be odd to see the Hall again,” she commented. “I have not been there in over eight years.”
Nicholas glanced at her. “I think it will be all too familiar.”
“You are probably right,” Juliana agreed. She paused, then went on. “What do you intend to do there?”
“Look over the books and the lands, I suppose. Deal with whatever problems have arisen. Crandall has been in charge since his father’s death. I have grave doubts about his management, I must admit.”
“Perhaps he has changed.”
“Perhaps.”
“Will you let them continue to live there?” she asked.
His smile was wicked. “I have to say that it would give me a certain amount of satisfaction to turn them all out.” He shrugged. “However, it would serve little purpose. I have no real desire to live there myself, anyway. It’s a grim, unpleasant place. I expect that I—that we—will spend most of our time in London or at my parents’ house in Cornwall. It would be petty, would it not, to evict Aunt Lilith and Crandall?”
She smiled at him. “I am glad you are not petty. I have no liking for them, either, but…”
“But you have a kind heart,” he finished.
“As do you.”
“No. I simply see little purpose in creating uproar when it’s unnecessary.” His face turned grim. “However, I cannot say that my answer would be the same if Uncle Trenton were still there.”
“He was a wicked man. I was always deathly scared of him. He had the coldest eyes. It was like looking into a pit. I never could have stood up to him as you did.”
“My knees were often knocking, I assure you,” Nicholas replied. “But I was not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he frightened me. It was sheer hardheadedness, not bravery.”
“Well, I hope I have enough hardheadedness to go in the house again, then.”
Nicholas looked at her in some concern. “Does it bother you so to return? I did not think—it was not necessary that we come.”
“No, I think it was necessary—for you. Was it not?”
He took a moment to answer. “Yes. It was, somehow. But we did not have to marry there. You needn’t have come.”
“It is probably as necessary for me as for you. Anyway, my memories are surely not as bad as yours. But I must confess that I am glad you do not plan to reside there always. I think the house in Cornwall will be much preferable.”
His face lightened. “Yes. It is a lovely house—or it was. It has fallen into disrepair in my absence. But I have already set the repairs in motion. It should be habitable in a few months. Until then, we’ll be at Lychwood Hall.”
“Cornwall is where you lived as a boy, right?”
Nicholas nodded. “Yes. It sits on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The view is glorious from the upper floors.”
“I remember how you used to miss it,” Juliana said softly.
“I think I missed the ocean most. We had a boat, and my father taught me to sail. It was my favorite thing.”
“Is that where you went when you left Lychwood Hall?”
He nodded. “Not to the house. I was sure that was where Trenton would look first. But I went to Cornwall. I knew people there who would take me in. And I could work on the boats.”
“Fishing?”
“Among other things,” Nicholas replied. He looked out the window, then back to her. “Smuggling, too. The stories are right about that. It was good money, and a good way to hide from my uncle. Not that most of the people there would have given me up, anyway. But those who might have would have been scared to betray a smuggler.”
“So you brought in goods from France.”
“Aye, brandy and wine, mostly.”
“And spying?” Juliana asked quietly.
“That too. Easy enough to add that to smuggling. By the time I was running my own ship, I was carrying spies back and forth to France, other times just bringing back information.” He shrugged. “I didn’t usually do any of the spying myself—’twould have been difficult to run my operation were I gone for months to France.”
“Usually? Then you did sometimes stay in France? Gathering information?”
“A time or two. Once when communications had been disrupted and they needed to find out what had happened. They paid me enough for our losses. And again later, when I was ready to sell out anyway.” He grinned at her. “So, you can see, the stories are true about that, as well. I’m not a very upright fellow. Perhaps you had better rethink your acceptance.”
“You were spying for the British, though.”
“Yes. I wasn’t wicked enough to work for the other side.”
“Then you were a patriot. And the smuggling was necessary for your cover, so it seems to me there was little harm.”
“I would have smuggled anyway,” he said flatly. “And they paid me very well for the rest of it. I did it for the gold, not out of patriotism.”
“Say what you want,” Juliana replied with a smile. “You are not going to convince me you are wicked.”
An answering smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “And I think that you are equal to me in stubbornness.”
“I think perhaps I am.”
“Just don’t expect too much,” he said in a more serious tone. “I do not want to see you feel disappointed.”
“I won’t.” She did not elaborate whether her reply regarded her expecting too much or being disappointed. And Nicholas did not ask.
The rest of the day passed easily enough. They chatted at time
s, and the rest of the time were equally comfortable sitting quietly. It was remarkable, Juliana thought, how easy it was to be with Nicholas, even after the gap of all these years, and yet there were other moments when suddenly, out of the blue, she found herself noticing the sharp cut of his jaw, the dark curve of his brow or the way the sunlight fell across his crow-black hair, and then what she felt was not ease or comfort at all. It was the stirring, deep down, of quite another feeling, a sort of breathless excitement, a slow wave of yearning that made her stir restively in her seat and look away from him, a flush staining her cheeks.
It was at those times that she would remember the kiss he had given her, and she would wonder what he had meant by it. More than that, she would wonder if it would ever happen again.
They had a late lunch at an inn along the way, and as the afternoon wore on, Juliana napped in the corner, lulled by the monotonous rumbling of the carriage. When she awakened, it was late in the afternoon.
“We are almost there,” Nicholas told her.
Juliana straightened and gazed out the window. The countryside looked familiar, and she realized that they were approaching the village. Lychwood Hall lay on the other side of the town.
She smoothed out her skirt a little nervously, then pulled back on the gloves and bonnet she had taken off during the carriage ride. She glanced at Nicholas, and he gave her a faint smile.
“Don’t be nervous. If they offend you, they are gone.”
She smiled back. “It is not them so much. It is—I don’t know. It makes it seem so much more as if a whole new life is starting.”
“It is.”
They were through the village now and turning down another road. Hedges grew close beside the road, giving way after a time to a row of plane trees. And there, at the end, stood a large house, built in a simple rectangle, three stories tall, with an addition running back from it on one end. It was built of grayish stone, with narrow black flint running in alternate strips between the layers of stone. It presented a perfectly symmetrical front, with four gables, each set with mullioned windows, and had a three-story porch in the center, the Barre coat-of-arms carved at the top. It was a graceful and elegant house, but there was a certain cold look to its perfection.
They had arrived at Lychwood Hall.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DOOR WAS OPENED to them by no less a personage than the butler, Rundell. A rather stout individual, with a ring of hair that ran behind his head from ear to ear and a perfectly bald pate on top, he had been the butler since Juliana had arrived at Lychwood Hall almost twenty years earlier. His carriage remained as unbending as ever, though the ring of hair had grown noticeably whiter and thinner.
He bowed to Nicholas, saying, “Welcome home, my lord. Miss Holcott. Please accept my felicitations.”
“Thank you, Rundell.” Nicholas handed him his hat and gloves, and Rundell passed them to one of the footmen.
“I expect you will wish to see Mrs. Barre first, sir,” Rundell went on. “Then, of course, if it pleases you, I would like to introduce the staff.”
“Of course.”
Juliana felt sure that there would be more joy in meeting the servants than the family, though she could not help but wonder if the others’ demeanor toward Nicholas would have changed, given the circumstances.
Her hand hooked through Nicholas’s arm, more for comfort than from polite behavior, Juliana walked with him in the butler’s wake through the large square entry room and down the hall. Rundell opened the door to the formal drawing room, rarely used, and ushered Nicholas and Juliana inside.
There were four people in the room. One was a man whom Juliana had never seen before, a medium-sized individual with brown hair arranged in a carefully windswept style made popular by Lord Byron some years earlier. His face was pleasant, if somewhat nondescript, eyes a somewhat lighter shade of brown than his hair. He was standing by the window, looking out in a bored manner, when they arrived, and he turned toward them with interest.
The other three were women, two sitting on the sofa and one in a chair across from it. The oldest of the women was Lilith Barre, Nicholas’s aunt, and the first thought Juliana had was how little the woman had changed since she had seen her last, almost nine years ago. Her pale blond hair, elegantly styled, was somewhat dimmed now by streaks of gray, but her face and hands were not badly wrinkled, a matter attributable to the woman’s assiduous wearing of wide hats and gloves every time she ventured outdoors, as well as her equally disciplined applications of lotions and creams. Her figure was quite trim, as well, and that was due, Juliana was sure, to her devotion to riding. She loved horses, the one sign of any sort of affection Juliana had ever seen in her, and kept both a hunter and a mare for riding about the estate.
“Mrs. Barre.” The butler bowed toward Lilith. “Lord Barre and Miss Holcott have arrived.”
“Yes, I see. Come in.” Lilith rose and came toward them, her voice calm and her manner regal. Not by a glance or movement did she display the slightest bit of either welcome or unease. “Lord Barre. Miss Holcott.”
They might have been people she had never seen before, Juliana reflected.
“Please, sit down. You must be tired from your journey. And thirsty. Rundell, tea, please.” She turned toward the other two women. “You know Lady Seraphina Lowell-Smythe, of course. Allow me to introduce to you to Mrs. Winifred Barre, my son Crandall’s wife. Crandall, I fear, could not be here, as he is out of the house on estate matters.”
Seraphina, Juliana noted as she stepped forward to greet her, had changed more than her mother. The years had taken away her slim figure, and she dressed fussily, perhaps in an attempt to distract the eye from her plumpness. A blue ribbon was wound through a riotous arrangement of golden curls on her head, matching the blue ribbons that sashed her white muslin dress. Blue and yellow flowers were embroidered on the hem and sleeves of her gown, as well as around the neck. A wide fluted band of stiff muslin sprang up from the neckline, and a gauzy shawl lay across her shoulders and arms. A coral cameo brooch was pinned to the center of the bosom of her dress, and matching coral earrings dangled from her ears. A golden chain and locket around her neck and several bangles of gold around her arms completed the ensemble.
“Juliana! Nicholas!” Seraphina trilled, smiling, and kissed Juliana on the cheek as if they were the best of friends, despite the fact that she had not laid eyes on Juliana for nine years and Nicholas for even longer—and had never been particularly fond of them even when they had all lived there as children. “How elegant you look, Juliana.”
Her eyes swept with some envy down Juliana’s slim, tall figure in her smart blue carriage dress. Then she half turned, pulling forward the woman standing a little behind and to the side of her. “Winnie, don’t be shy.”
The other woman smiled, and bobbed a curtsey to Juliana and Nicholas. “My lord. Miss Holcott.”
Blond and blue-eyed like Seraphina, this woman was the opposite of her in dress and manner. Quiet, with a shy little smile, she wore a simple dress of spotted muslin, her only adornment the pearl studs in her ears and her wedding ring. Young and sweet-faced, she scarcely seemed to be the sort to be married to the Crandall Juliana remembered—or perhaps only such a girl would be able to stand the man, Juliana corrected herself.
“And this is Seraphina’s husband,” Aunt Lilith went on, gesturing toward the man by the window, who at last stepped forward to shake their hands. “Sir Herbert Lowell-Smythe. Seraphina and Sir Herbert are visiting us this summer.”
It seemed to Juliana to be an odd time for the couple to be visiting, given that the Season in London was at its height. The Seraphina whom Juliana had known had dreamed of the day when she would be able to spend every Season going to soirees and balls in London. She had always found Lychwood Hall and its rural setting dreadfully dull. And since she was a married woman, her existence was not tied to the estate as Crandall’s and his mother’s were. All Juliana could think was that Seraphina’s curiosity to see the
new Lord Barre was great enough to lure her away from town.
Sir Herbert greeted Juliana and Nicholas in a friendly enough manner, inquiring as to their trip from the City. Everyone made a few general comments about the weather and the general sameness of the village, and then the limping conversation rolled to a halt.
“Well,” Aunt Lilith said after a long moment of silence, “I imagine the two of you would like an opportunity to freshen up before dinner.”
“Yes, thank you.” Juliana seized upon the excuse gratefully.
“Very well. I’ll ring for Rundell.”
The butler answered her summons so promptly that Juliana suspected he must have been lurking outside the door. He escorted Nicholas and Juliana to the foot of the staircase, where they found a line of neatly uniformed servants waiting. Juliana remembered that he had asked Nicholas to meet the staff, and she groaned inwardly at this added duty before she could have a chance to be alone and lie down.
“Mrs. Pettibone, the housekeeper,” the butler intoned, leading them to the head of the line, where a plump middle-aged woman in a starched white cap and apron over her severe black dress stood, the enormous ring of keys that were her sign of office hanging at her waist.
She curtseyed with great dignity, and the butler continued down the line, bringing to their notice first the cook, then the footmen, parlor maids, upstairs maids and so on, down to the last scullery maid and pot boy. It was a veritable army of servers. For the first time Juliana thought about the fact that she would soon be the one directing this veritable army, something completely beyond the scope of her experience. She only hoped that Nicholas’s confidence in her abilities was justified. She would hate to come a cropper with Aunt Lilith there watching, and she was well aware of the fact that after many years of working for Lilith, the servants’ loyalty would probably lie with the older woman. It was never an easy changeover when the reins of the household were passed from one mistress to the next, and this was certainly not the best of situations.